


ruiner

by sade12



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: (not so much rape just noncon), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, I love how there's a tag for that, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pon Farr, mood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sade12/pseuds/sade12
Summary: “only the lonely loves, only the sad of soul, wake and begin their day in the middle of the night.”





	ruiner

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly obsessed with pon farr conceptually and I'm constantly exploring it and reading other ppl's fics on it and I thought: this is a mess, why are vulcans... like that?  
> and then I wanted to see what would happen if it went unchecked for too long and someone got thrown into the crosshairs. And because I am a fucking demon it had to be my best boy Scotty.
> 
> Aand second of all, my overly descriptive style of writing i... can you tell I'm a poet not a fanfiction writer??? I'm glad when people like my work because I'm honestly not that good at this. Thanks for all feedback, of course it's super appreciated and makes me feel all giddy  
> 

His rational side tells him ‘there is no sense in attempting to civilize a savage’. It’s the first he’s heard from it in days.

Tearing blindly through the hallways past hours did just about the opposite; sending him confused and disoriented until he finally stopped and succumbed to the headache- where at he succumbed, though, he wasn’t sure. Somewhere dark and resonate with the steady hum of the Enterprise’s engines underneath him, seemingly inside of the floor. He tries to focus on this, let it guide him into meditation through a self-imposed trance- but the attempt goes nowhere. It’s overcome by the fever as all things and all bodily functions are; the heat, the inconsistent pains and how everything hurt- it was all too much.

A pain similar to death, or death itself, wasn’t far now.

The lights flick on the second Spock’s eyes close.

In this he becomes aware of the fact he’s in the engineering department and subconsciously scans the environment as much as the mess inside of his head will permit him. In a far off corner, somewhat plagued with dust, he sits.

Spock hears the standard squeak of the doors sliding open and shut; Starfleet issue boots tracing the floor, and it’s somehow very sobering. In this moment he feels stilled at the presence of another; to not be alone for even a moment may be... _worth the danger it inevitably poses to them,_ he tells himself.

“Who,” Spock croaks out, his voice uneven, “is there?”

“I... should be askin’ you the same thing,” comes a voice from across the space. It sounds temperate, fearful even.

Spock cocks his head up at an irregular speed so he can see, his hair going askew with the jut. What’s left of his cognitive abilities tells him it’s Scotty, and it is Scotty, and he’s left with something of an internal crisis. Oh, no.

_Why? Why him?_

After gathering his bearings and using all his energy to dull his shaking, he makes himself as presentable as possible and stands. There’s a consistent impression of weightlessness in his stomach; a milky texture to the wall as he leaned on it to upright himself, a strongly defined incomprehensibility of everything there is and he has ever known. And Scotty, now facing him.

“Why’re you just sittin’ in the corner there?”

The Vulcan does not respond. He can’t.

“Wait a- is that you, Spock?”

He wants to say ‘no, this is not me, and for the time being until this fever passes, you do not know me’. Which, in multiple ways, is true; but it’d just serve to confuse the engineer more. “Yes, it is... I.”

“You haven’t been here all day, have ya? I- Oh, dear.” Though Spock has only turned to face him slightly, what he sees is enough to tell him something is off. Scotty begins closing the distance between them and Spock flinches upon his first step. “Ya look... terrible, sir. No offense meant, of course.”

With every step Scotty takes, Spock answers with a step backward until his back is pressed up against the wall.

“No,” Spock says. Only, it fails on every level as a deterrent and has the opposite effect and Scotty keeps horning in, closer and closer-- until Spock can faintly smell Scotty’s musk; a peculiar and less important perk of his fever. Enhanced sense of smell to know where one’s mate was at all times, even in sleep. He averts his vision so that he’ll look anywhere but at Scotty, lest he lose all impulse control and be overstimulated to the point of implosion.

“Should I call down to sickbay?” 

“No.”

“Well, can I at least get an explanation?”

“You would not be- able to handle.” Spock fails to conceal a twitch in his arms once, twice. “It.”

“Why’s that?”

He looks down for a moment and he can’t tell himself not to.

How could he have never before paid attention to the awe-inspiring way the light hits Scotty’s face, how both sides of it are perfection incarnate? His skin looked like silk and his lips were so beautifully, tantalizingly full. He looked bathed in just the perfect amount of sunlight; his hair, parted so cleanly, unlike it had ever been done before, contrasting the usual more usual-effort look. No, he put time into it before he came here, _to impress me. All for me._

“You have to _leave, now,_ ” Spock practically shouts. 

“ _I_ have to leave? Why, with all due respect, I work here! You tell me what’s happening with you and then we’ll talk!”

Something about the way Spock’s stare burned straight through him told Scotty that yelling was the wrong approach. He had a vague suspicion this was some strange Vulcan thing he didn’t know about- his knowledge on the race was impractically limited, especially for someone who worked with one every other day. What did he know about them? They were powerful, motivated entirely by logical reasoning, and could paralyze with a touch.

Okay. No more yelling. Compassionate approach. His friend and superior is experiencing a hard time and the least he could do is be nice.

“Gee, uh. I’m sorry for yellin’ at ya there. I didn’t mean it.” 

No response.

“I just gotta know what’s happening because... If this is real bad and something awful happens t’ya just cause I couldn’t stay on top of it, the Captain’ll never let me hear the end of it. You know that better than anyone.”

Spock nods slowly.

“I, am, burning,” He then slurs, unable to complete the thought. What could he finish the statement with? _I am being devoured by confusing yet natural sexual urges and you have unknowingly thrust yourself into harm’s way by being here, and I implore you to leave before it is too late._

He tries. All that comes out is “I... implore thee... to leave.”

“Burning? What, like a fever?”

“Yes-”

-He starts, but his mouth shuts as Scotty rests his hand upon Spock’s forehead, and then his neck to check his pulse. 

“Y’are burning up. White-hot,” Scotty says, though he’s talking to himself. Spock is melting into the floor as he speaks. 

He comes apart at the seams and Scotty’s words dissolve as they enter his ears; _relief._ All that mattered was the pleasure of _relief._ The feeling of skin was so much more freeing than it had any right to be; warm, soft flesh gracing his only for a moment. The desire for this relief becomes... covetousness. 

“This is, urm... Some fever you got here.”

"Yes," Spock whispers.

He has to will himself not to become hard. He has to will himself not to lean forward and instigate.

And when Scotty tries to pull his hand away then, he can’t, as Spock’s then holding it firmly and keeping it where it is. Scotty’s eyebrows furrow and he tries to pull away again, which he cannot do.

_It would be so, painfully easy._ So easy, in this vulnerable position he’s in now, to do a basic sidestepping maneuver so that they would switch positions; Scotty, pressed up against the wall, Spock as the dominant, looming over him, claiming what of course was rightfully _mine-_

_Stop,_ Spock tries to tell himself. _Not him. Not him. This is a mistake, a misunderstanding._

Roughly, he releases his grasp and Scotty pulls away- until, with the opposite hand, Spock instinctively grabs his wrist and pulls him back.

He failed to heed multiple warnings to leave. It’s clear he wants to stay; he’s so subservient, submissive. So willing to help, as he always is; so prepared to second himself. He understands the fever. _He will help me with this._ This poison has dammed up inside and now it must come forth and he will receive it. He is... the perfect mate.

_Stop._

“What’re you doing, sir?” There is panic in Scotty’s voice; he tries repetitively to break away from Spock’s metallic grasp but can’t.

Spock’s opposite hand reaches up and, despite its shaking, gently smooths over Scotty’s nape. It feels soft and inviting and just warm enough and so right and perfect that when his hand is, instead, pushing Scotty’s chin up and his lips are colliding with his Adam’s apple no side of him obeys when he says stop again.

Scotty, in turn, lets out a sound that Spock would term a squeal. 

He wails and cries in confusion, all while trying harder to pull away from the hands now entwining his waist, the hips rutting against his own. Crying for a help Spock knows won’t come, and some part of that spurs him on. How long this had lasted, Spock really isn’t sure, but Scotty pulls away with a deep, concerning red bruise surrounded by bite marks on his neck when he's let go of.

But instead of running, Scotty stands stagnant; gasping for air and looking petrified.

_Push him down onto the floor. Have him. Now._

“Why...” Scotty breathes.

_Now. Now._

Spock snaps back into reality. 

“Montgomery,” he says.

Scotty responds with a frightened look.

“Go.”

And go he does.

And not even ten seconds after the door to engineering closes, Spock is following him.


End file.
